


You've Cat To Be Kitten Me

by thelilacfield



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Just Add Kittens, Meet-Cute, Meet-Ugly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2019-09-25 10:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17120060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield
Summary: “What’s up, neighbour?”“My cat is pregnant."“Congratulations, grandpa!”“And I found your cat with her on Halloween, after you summarily informed me you would turn the music down and proceeded not to. Is your cat neutered?”“Oh shit.”





	1. in which there's an un-fur-tunate occurrence

**A/N:** Here is the fic I promised before Christmas! This has been somewhat in the making for a while, and hopefully everyone can enjoy it even though it's very self-indulgent! Happy Holidays! :)

* * *

There's a quiet rustling echoing around the mailroom, and when Vision peers inside he finds a cat amongst the uncollected packages. An orange tabby with yellow-green eyes and a crooked tail, tilting its head at him before returning to chewing idly on the edge of a catalogue. He just watches while he collects the package that holds the pieces of Isabella's new tower, noticing that a piece is missing from the cat's right ear, and its purring as it rips a shred from the catalogue sounds like an engine in need of some tuning.

"Are you lost?" he asks softly, and the cat just tilts its head at him, putting a protective paw over the catalogue. "Have you been fighting?"

He extends a cautious hand, and the cat's damp nose bumps into his knuckles with a purr like a chainsaw. Then it lifts its head to idly chew on the buttons of his coat, and he shakes his head fondly and pulls his hand free. "I'll leave you to your important business," he says, and the cat meows at him before it returns to wriggling deeper into the uncollected packages with an odd sort of determination.

Tucking his box under his arm, he leaves the mailroom and finds a young woman wandering along the corridor, bleary-eyed. There's a coffee stain down the front of her white shirt, only one side of her hair is straightened while the other is in tangled waves and she's shaking an open box of cat treats so haphazardly a few fly out and rattle to the floor. "Have you seen a ginger cat?" she asks him, and there's a franticness in her eyes. "Crooked tail, missing a piece of an ear. Answers to 'hellbeast' or 'what the hell are you doing you tiny asshole?'"

Vision just blinks at her for a second before he waves a hand in the direction of the mailroom and says, "He's in there chewing catalogues."

"That's my little idiot," she sighs and runs into the mailroom, and he lingers long enough to hear a string of swear words in a language he doesn't understand and an indignant yowl.

When he gets back to his apartment, Isabella is stretched contentedly along the top of the couch, and meows in greeting as he slides the door closed. "I told you I wouldn't be gone for long," he says, and she meows, and when he holds out an arm she climbs up against his chest, coating him in a fine layer of fur and purring. "Do you want your treat ball while I build your new tower?"

She leaps gracefully to the floor, waiting patiently while he carefully pushes homemade salmon treats into the intricate maze of her treat ball, and fondly watches her batting it around the floor while he rips the package open and carefully organises the screws and wood to start piecing together the tower with its soft platforms, ready to replace the older, shorter model he's had since Isabella was a kitten. Now she'll be as tall as he is when she wants to climb the tower, and she'll have so much more fun watching the world go by.

When the creation is complete, he watches Isabella tentatively approach it, daintily sniffing at the base. Then she jumps onto the first platform with an idle flick of her tail, climbing up until she's sitting at the same height as him, and he grins. "See, now you don't have to climb up on my shoulders to say hello," he says, and she meows sweetly. "I love you too." A dart of her paw against his forehead, and he smiles, running a hand over the soft thick fur of her back and planting a soft kiss between her ears. "I have to go to work now, Bella. Are you going to be alright by yourself?"

She makes one of her happy little chirping sounds, and he runs his fingers over the soft shapes of her ears before he runs a lint roller over his shirt and lapels and leaves the apartment, briefcase thudding gently against his hip as he jogs down the stairs. He passes the young woman again, a mass of the ginger cat in her arms, and she gives him a weak smile. "He just likes boxes," she says, and the cat gives a meow of happy recognition, and Vision just nods and watches the woman and her cat disappear into the apartment directly below his.

* * *

 **isabellathesiamese:**  Halloween is here and I'm the purr-fect queen

**Liked by greeneggsandsam and 351 others**

_**greeneggsandsam:**_   **@** _ **shadedvision**_ _You are such a dork_

_**shadedvision: @greeneggsandsam** _ _Bella wanted to dress up why would I tell her no? Doesn't Redwing have a Halloween costume?_

_**greeneggsandsam: @shadedvision** _ _My bastard bird does not deserve a Halloween costume_

Untying the string that holds the purple, fur-edged cape around Isabella, Vision smiles at her shaking herself out, and snaps another few pictures of just the glittery gold fabric crown balanced neatly between her ears. He may not be planning on doing anything for Halloween, but at least Isabella has a costume and he can get away with pretending he celebrated by posting pictures of her. And he can just wrap himself in a blanket and let Isabella crawl into his lap and lie there, purring loudly, while he scrolls through Netflix in search of something to watch.

There's an explosion of sound from beneath him, Isabella leaping out of his lap and racing to hide under the bed, and he stands up, blanket falling back into a pile on the couch. Brushing himself down just to be sure there aren't any crumbs left clinging to his shirt and storming downstairs to knock on the door until it swings open and a blonde man with a plastic astronaut helmet under his arm is staring at him. "You're not the pizza," he says, then turns his head into the apartment, flooded with people, and bellows, "Who ordered the pizza?!"

"It's on its way!" someone shouts, and the man nods, seemingly satisfied, and leaves the door swinging open.

Hovering nervously in the doorway, Vision manages to reach out for a woman walking past him, a redhead in a Poison Ivy costume, and ask, "Excuse me, is the young lady who lives here around?"

There's a crow of triumph from someone as the familiar opening of  _Circle of Life_  starts to play out through the apartment, so loud it shakes the walls, and Vision is struck silent watching the young woman he recognises climbing onto her table, dressed all in grey with red and blue lines painted across her cheeks and her hair sprayed white and fluffed out around her, with her cat in her arms. The cat, looking extremely put-upon to be surrounded by so much noise, is wearing a lion's mane, and his owner is grinning proudly as she hoists him into the air, people guffawing and cheering and lifting their phones to take photos.

Pushing through the crowd, Vision looks up at her and calls, "Excuse me?!" It comes out sounding angrier than he meant, and her eyes go wide, and she climbs down from the table, clutching her cat tightly. "Would you  _please_  turn the music down? You're frightening my cat."

"You have a cat  _too_?" she asks, the syllables slow and thick, and he realises she's drunk. Not that he can blame her for it, it  _is_  Halloween, and she seems younger than him. She acts it, at least, standing on a table in her bare feet despite the fact that there's a layer of crumbs veiling the wood. "Maybe they could have a playdate!"

"I don't think so," he says, casting a look at the cat wriggling out of her arms and onto the floor, sniffing at a dropped sausage roll before darting away through the party. The young woman climbs down from the table, stretching her back into a perfect curve that raises the hem of her grey shirt to expose a strip of pale skin, and shakes her hair out, sending up a cloud of white spray. "You didn't tell me you were having a party."

"I forgot," she says blithely, helping herself to a lollipop from one of the bowls scattered seemingly at random across surfaces in the apartment. He tries not to squint too hard at the mess, the bike propped against the wall with scraped paint and the sheer amount of empty wine bottles stacked in the corner. "Really sorry."

"Well, Miss..." She blinks at him, sways slightly, and he clears his throat and pointedly says, "We've never been formally introduced."

"Oh, I'm Wanda!" she says, grinning at him. "Sorry, I was totally gonna take cookies round the building and introduce myself, but I didn't have any flour and I didn't wanna go buy it, you know?"

"And what is your last name, Wanda?" he asks, feeling the prickling of people around the room looking at him, as Wanda stumbles slightly over her own feet craning her head to look at him. "What are you doing?"

"You're, like, really tall," she says, and steadies herself, hands on her hips. "I'm Wanda Magdalena Maximoff. What is your name,  _sir_?"

Pushing down the buzz of irritation that starts to rise, Vision politely holds out a hand and says, "I'm Victor Shade."

" _Ooh_ , that sounds like a detective in an old film!" she says, her eyes brightening. "You could start a business on that. It's super catchy. Shade Investigations. And you could wear like a trench coat and a fancy hat and stand on street corners looking all broody and cool and smoking a cigar."

"Smoking is terrible for you," he says, and she rolls her eyes.

"It's for the  _aesthetic_!" she says, every syllable exaggerated as if she's speaking to a very small child. "Anyway...what was the point of this conversation, Detective Shade?"

"Please don't call me that," he says, trying to keep the sharpness out of his voice, and she salutes, very nearly stumbling. "Could you please turn your music down? And, if you ever wish to have a party this size again, do the courtesy of letting me know. I live directly above you and sound travels through the floor."

"You can just come to the party!" she says, and her eyes go wide with inspiration. "Quick, go turn into an old-timey detective and come back. I made vodka gummy bears and I have, like, so many. You can have those!"

"I'm not interested in coming to your party, Ms. Maximoff," he says, and she pouts up at him.

"You're boring," she says, and tosses her hair. "I'll turn the music down."

"Thank you," he says, and moves to leave.

But then she's grabbing his arm, folding her arms defiantly over her chest and asking, "But what's wrong with my music?"

"It's very...loud," he says, and she glares up at him, eyes narrowing.

"And what do you listen to?" she asks, her hands going to her hips, staring him down. "Classical? Chanting monks? Jazz?"

"So what if I do?" he asks. "There is nothing wrong with enjoying music that isn't considered popular, Ms. Maximoff."

"I bet you have a record player," she says thoughtfully, giving him a darting up and down look. "You look like you own a record player. Total hipster."

"I am not a hipster," he retorts indignantly, and she grins.

"Did I hit a nerve?" she asks. "Okay, Mr. Not A Hipster. I'll turn the music down. You go back to your jazz and poetry and...and  _soap-making_." She delivers the last word triumphantly, swaying slightly on the balls of her feet, and turns around with a dramatic flip of her hair.

Vision leaves the apartment having to dodge around the same very drunk man who once again asks if he's the pizza delivery, closing the door behind him and gritting his teeth when the music only seems to get louder. But he can't have another conversation with such a ridiculous woman, and instead goes back to his apartment. Breaking into a light jog when he sees the door standing slightly ajar, and jerks it open to find Wanda's cat in his apartment, Isabella standing a few feet away daintily cleaning her paw, and snaps, " _Out_! Shoo! Get away from her!"

The cat gives a happy mew of recognition, and even has the audacity to wind his way through Vision's legs as he leaves with a flick of his tail. Closing the door firmly, Vision scoops Isabella into his arms and presses a kiss between her ears, murmuring, "It'll be okay, sweetheart. They'll be quiet. You want to come lay down?"

She purrs, and he carries her to her bed, watching her stretch out on the velvety cushion with a soft sort of affection in his smile. Even if he knows he'll find her on his pillow in the morning, she'll enjoy the bed while he meditates and washes his face and reads a few pages of his book. When he slides into bed, she leaps up next to him and wriggles her way beneath his hand, and eventually he manages to forget the thud of the bass from the apartment below and fall asleep to the gentle rhythm of her belly rising and falling beneath his hand.

* * *

Much to Vision's chagrin, he finds himself running into Wanda Maximoff more and more as the days mount up after Halloween. He can hear music and voices from the apartment below, and when he walks downstairs to head out to hot yoga he briefly walks into Wanda, looking much different that she did on Halloween or when he first ran into her outside the mailroom. Actually sort of put together, even though there's a hole in one of her knee-high socks that her toe is poking through, and he briefly wrinkles his nose when she starts for the stairwell without bothering to put shoes on.

"Oh, hey neighbour!" she says brightly, shoving her hair behind her ear. "Were we bothering you? It's potluck dinner, you can come join us if you want?"

"I have a yoga class," he says, and her face brightens.

"I keep meaning to look into yoga!" she says cheerfully. "Where do you go? Maybe I could try there. I keep saying to myself that I'm going to start new habits, might as well get a head start before the new year."

"I think you'd be more suited to the beginner's classes, I've been at the same studio since I moved here," Vision says, perhaps a little sharper than he should.

"That can't be that long, your accent is still really strong," she says, and he struggles to swallow a retort.

Instead, saying a simple, "I've lived in New York for five years."

"Oh hey, I've been here seven, I win!" she chirps, and gives him a small nudge. And even if it does remind him of the way Sam teases him, when it comes from Wanda it's so much more aggravating. He can't even get rid of her until they're outside the apartment block, and she even has the audacity to wave at him while she's collecting bags of takeout from the delivery driver, and he huffs in frustration. It takes him almost the entire session of yoga to drag his mind away from just how irritating she is.

And it isn't just that day either. He suddenly finds it incredibly difficult to distance himself from his downstairs neighbour, even though in New York it should be simple to avoid seeing neighbours. Most of those around him he's only met once, when he moved in. He knows Mrs Tillman on the floor above who occasionally waves at him in the stairwell and asks about his love life, the three children on the ground floor who come trick or treating at his door, but no one else.

But Wanda has taken it upon herself to get to know him. When they see each other in the mailroom, she strikes up conversations, even while he's trying to unbox a new bag of cat food he wants to see if Isabella will actually eat, since she's making him increasingly worried with lack of appetite. She never seems to care how she looks, often going to the mailroom in what must be pyjamas, and he finds himself wondering what she does day to day when he's never seen her in anything close to a professional outfit. Occasionally, when he leaves Isabella still sleeping on the empty side of his bed to go for an early morning jog or swim, he sees her cycling, and begrudgingly thinks that at least she exercises. But they get back to the block at the same time, and she waves at him in happy recognition, pulling her helmet off and saying, "I didn't know you were a jogger!"

"I try to get out when I can," he says stiffly, wishing she'd stop talking so he can just go upstairs and stretch and shower and see if he can coax Isabella into eating.

"Hey, maybe we could meet up and go for breakfast!" she says, and he has to fight not to let his distaste for that idea show on his face. "We can compare notes on raising cats. What breed is yours? Is it a boy or a girl? What's their name? How long have you had them?"

"Isabella is a pure-bred Siamese," Vision says, trying not to let himself puff up in pride when he talks about Isabella's pedigree. "I've had her over a year, since she was eight weeks old."

"Oh, that's cool, so she must be really attached to you if you got her that young," Wanda says, casually leaning her bike against the wall, and Vision has to suppress a shudder at the thought that she might mark the paint. "I got my little guy about a year ago too. He was a stray and we just liked each other. He's a bit of a weird one."

"I'm sure," Vision says, and shifts from foot to foot for a moment. "Well, nice to see you as always, Ms. Maximoff."

"Yeah, it's always lovely to converse with you!" she says, a little  _too_  brightly. He narrows his eyes at her, and turns on his heel to walk up the stairs and back to his apartment. Immediately descending from vague irritation into concern when he finds Isabella still sleeping, when normally she'd be awake and meowing happily when he came home from morning jogs.

"Bella, sweetie, wake up," he murmurs, running a gentle hand along her back until she sighs and rolls over, her tail flicking. "Come on, sweetheart. You have to eat."

She ignores him, continues to sleep, and even one of his home-made treats doesn't get a reaction. And he can't keep sitting up worrying about her, Googling reasons that she might not be eating and is sleeping more than usual and terrifying himself with every article he reads. So he picks up the phone and hits the first number on speed dial.

"This is Victor Shade. I need to make an appointment for my cat, Isabella."

"And when do you want this appointment, sir?"

"As soon as possible."

* * *

There's a Golden Retriever puppy being far too enthusiastic in the vet's waiting room, bouncing on the end of their leash, and Vision cradles Isabella closer to his chest, rubbing the velvety tips of her ears soothingly. "It's okay, sweetheart," he murmurs, watching her eyes darting around the room in worry, hovering on the pair of guinea pigs in a plastic carrier and the puppy and a twittering canary. "Everything's going to be okay, Bella. You're going to be okay."

The door to one of the examination rooms swings open, and Mantis looks into the room, giving him the usual warm smile. "Isabella?" she asks, and Vision stands up, holding Isabella a little tighter carrying her into the room. "So what's wrong with my favourite patient, huh?"

"She's barely eating," Vision says, barely refraining from wringing his hands in worry. "And she's sleeping far too much. I come home and she doesn't stand up to see me, she isn't as vocal, and I'm  _scared_. She's all I have. I can't...I can't handle something happening to her."

"Well let me see her," Mantis says, and Isabella steps daintily onto the metal table, butting her head into Mantis' palm with a happy mew of recognition. "Hi honey, what's up with you? You're worrying your dad." She lets Isabella climb into her arms, making  _prrp_  noises and rubbing her head into her white coat, and says, "I'll take her into the back and have a look, Vision. I promise, I don't see any huge red flags."

By the time Mantis eventually carries Isabella carefully back into the room, setting her gently down on the table, Vision has worked himself into quite a state, running a frantic hand over her fur, the hum of her purr reassuring as her tail coils into his hand. "Did you find anything?" he asks, feeling distinctly like he's on the verge of tears he's so worried. "Is there a tumour? Does she need surgery? Is she going to be alright?"

"The ultrasound did find something," Mantis says, and a horrible shiver of cold runs down his back, his hand tightening on Isabella's tail. A thousand possibilities run through his mind, all of them awful, all of them resulting in losing her. But Mantis  _smiles_ , running her fingers very gently through Isabella's fur, and says, "This little lady is pregnant."

"What?" Isabella looks up at him, meows quietly, batting her head against his hand, but he's just staring at Mantis. "But she...she's an indoor cat. She's not allowed outside."

"I know you were considering breeding from her when she's a little older, and I told you it only takes one encounter with a tom for a queen to get pregnant," Mantis says gently, opening a drawer and pulling out various pamphlets. "Is there a chance she might have gotten outside while you weren't home? Or are there any male cats in your building that could've gotten into your apartment?"

"I always lock all the windows and the balcony doors when I'm not home, she  _couldn't_  have gotten out," he insists, while Isabella meows for attention and rubs against his arm. Then he remembers, and feels himself scowl. "Except on Halloween. I went downstairs to ask my neighbour to turn the music down and her cat left while we were talking. I found him in my apartment. I must've forgotten to close the door."

"That was probably it," Mantis says, and hands him a whole pile of leaflets. "I know this is a surprise, but you've got plenty of capacity to love kittens. Make another appointment at the front desk so we can make sure Bella stays healthy this whole time. You've got my number if you need help out of hours."

In a daze, he carefully manoeuvres Isabella back into her crate and carries her to the car, even more gentle with her than he would usually be. She curls up on her blanket, purring softly, and he drives them back to the apartment, head spinning. Frustration building into anger that Wanda would be so irresponsible as to let her cat escape her apartment knowing he isn't neutered. Furious that she would treat everything so casually.

Once he's taken Isabella back to the apartment and gotten her settled, filling a fresh bowl of water and giving her a treat for behaving at the vet, he closes and locks the door and storms downstairs, banging on Wanda's door. There's meowing behind the door, and he only gets angrier, slamming the flat of his hand against the door until she opens it. Her hair in tangled braids, wearing a T-shirt with a stain on the shoulder and plaid pyjama shorts and blinking sleepily up at him. "I thought you were my breakfast," she says, and yawns widely. "What's up, neighbour?"

"My cat is pregnant," he says through gritted teeth, and she just smiles.

"Congratulations, grandpa!" she says, and he barely restrains himself from shouting.

"And I found your cat with her on Halloween, after you summarily informed me you would turn the music down and proceeded not to," he says, and she nods lazily, leaning heavily on her door. "Is your cat neutered?"

Her eyes go wide, and she straightens up, just as the ginger cat comes meowing up to her, winding around her legs and blinking his yellow-green eyes up at Vision. "Oh shit," she says, and looks down at the cat. "What have you been up to, huh? You been out Romeo and Juliet-ing with the girl upstairs?"

"This isn't funny!" Vision snaps, and Wanda smiles slightly, bending down to lift her cat into her arms. "What do you think you're  _doing_ , letting an unneutered cat out of your apartment when there are other cats in the building?"

"He just likes adventures," she says, planting a kiss between her cat's ears. "C'mon, it's a little funny. You're gonna be a daddy, little dude!"

The cat meows loudly, and Vision sees red. "You are  _impossible_!" he snaps, and she just stares up at him. "Who doesn't neuter their cat in this day and age?!"

"You?" she suggests, and he storms off, the cat's meowing echoing behind him. Slamming the door to his apartment behind him and huffing when he sits down, Isabella hissing and scurrying into her sheltered bed the way she always does when she sees he's in a bad mood.

He whiles away the time reading the pamphlets Mantis gave him, searching up how to take care of a pregnant cat, gritting his teeth over all the patronising introductions scolding a hypothetical owner for not spaying their cat, until there's a knock at the door. When he opens it, there's no one there, but there's a package of cat food waiting outside, a tiny sticker proclaiming  _SUITABLE FOR PREGNANT CATS_ , and a cat head-shaped post-it stuck to it.

_Sorry my hellbeast snuck out and knocked up your princess :( I promise he will not be a deadbeat dad. Consider this child support! - Wanda_


	2. in which there are changing cat-itudes

**A/N:** These are short compared to my usual chapter lengths, but it makes this a nice soothing fic compared to all my other WIPs. Hope y'all still enjoy even in shorter instalments!

* * *

Isabella's ears perk up a moment before there's a knock at the door, and Vision sighs heavily, marking his place in his book and getting to his feet to answer. Wanda is standing outside, a red and black plaid apron tied around her waist and her hair pulled into a haphazard bun that's coming undone and falling down one side of her head, a smear of flour on her cheek and stress in her eyes. "Do you have any thyme?" she asks, and he blinks at her in surprise. "I'm cooking and I seem to have literally every herb except that."

"Um...give me a moment," he says, and turns away from her, crossing the room to the windowsill where the neat pots of herbs are growing, flourishing despite the approach of winter. When he turns around again, Isabella has leapt neatly down from the couch and is standing at Wanda's feet, meowing, and she smiles softly and bends down to scratch her behind the ears. "That's Isabella."

"Aren't you just the prettiest?" Wanda coos, and Isabella purrs, batting at Wanda's hand with her paw. Staring at them, Vision swallows the petty jealousy rising in his chest and tries not to be offended when Isabella winds through Wanda's ankles just like she does with him. "I see why my little idiot likes you."

"I think she likes you," Vision says stiffly, and Isabella makes a  _prrp_  sound and rubs her head against Wanda's bent knee. "Here. Thyme."

"Oh, thank you," Wanda says, holding out her hand to take the sprigs. Isabella sneezes loudly, and Wanda smiles softly, scratching a single finger beneath her chin. "And I wanted to let you know, I...my cat got neutered yesterday. He's pretty mad at me, but it was the responsible thing to do."

"Would've been more responsible if you'd done it earlier," he says, almost under his breath. But she still hears, and narrows her eyes at him.

"Look, I get that you're mad that I let my cat knock yours up, but it takes two unneutered cats to tango," she says sharply. "Why wasn't Isabella spayed?"

"Because I wanted to breed from her," he snaps. It's all getting too much, having to defend himself whenever he goes on cat care forums to ask for advice, getting judgemental looks when he asks in the pet store for their ranges of food safe for pregnant cats, and having Wanda glaring at him. "But I wanted to wait until she was older because it lessens the risk of certain diseases. I've been very vigilant keeping her inside so she wouldn't stray and get pregnant by a strange cat, and you've ruined that, so thank you  _very_  much."

"Excuse me, my cat is  _not_  strange," she snaps, folding her arms defiantly over her chest. "He's a sweetheart. You're just mad he's not a perfect pedigree that I paid a thousand fucking dollars for."

"Isabella was only five hundred," he says sharply, and bristles when she rolls her eyes. "Why wasn't your cat neutered until him wandering off to impregnate Isabella forced you to be responsible?"

"Because it didn't cause any behaviour problems and he has a pathological fear of the vet!" she snaps. "He's been awake all night crying because I had to take him, and I hate myself for making him so frightened when he's supposed to be able to trust me!"

Vision blinks at her for a moment, seeing the frustration in her face, the flicker of sadness that flashes in her eyes. He notices the shadows of a sleepless night, and hears himself saying, "Do you think it would help him calm down if he could see another cat? I mean...clearly, him and Isabella like each other."

Wanda blinks up at him in surprise, Isabella indignantly hooking her finger back to stroking her ears, and then says, "Sure. Maybe he would like it. But he's not great at walking right now, he's still in pain."

"I'll make sure she's careful," he says. "She's lethargic herself anyway. My vet says Siamese are prone to having bigger litters, so that might be why."

He very carefully scoops up Isabella, lifting her without putting any pressure on her stomach the way Mantis showed him, and she purrs happily. Following Wanda downstairs to her apartment, noticing all the scattered flour on her black jeans and the smear of oil clinging to the hem of her oversized plaid shirt, he's surprised when the door open to be greeted by the pleasant scent of frying onions, and the happy meowing of her cat. "Be nice, baby, she's a guest," Wanda says, and shakes her head, a fond smile pulling at the corners of her mouth when her cat gives a pathetic mew. "Do you need me to lift you down?"

When Vision sets Isabella down, Wanda's cat comes darting straight over to her, sniffing her and bumping his nose against hers. "Aw, look!" Wanda says, gesturing at the pair with her spatula. "Young love."

Barely refraining from rolling his eyes, Vision looks around the apartment. There's a fine layer of cat hair on the couch, unwieldy stacks of books on the coffee table, and several cardigans draped across the chairs at the tiny dining table, rendering it entirely unusable. A bike propped up against the wall and a guitar lying across most of the couch, and Wanda doesn't even seem to realise a problem with the disorganisation. "So you live alone?" he asks, wondering if perhaps the explanation is a messy roommate. Or boyfriend. Or girlfriend.

"Yep, just me and the orange guy," she says, gesturing at her cat, beginning to purr as he greets Isabella. Looking at the stack of dishes in the sink, Vision wrinkles his nose slightly and glances around to find a place to sit. "Oh hey, just move my guitar. Shove it in my room, and grab yourself a blanket so you don't get covered in cat hair, I haven't gotten around to vacuuming in a while."

He hardly dares to look at her bedroom, the unmade bed and the curtains only half open, and selects an orange knitted blanket that he's sure she chose to avoid too much cat hair showing up on it. When he sits down, her cat glances over, intrigued, and in a flash has leapt into his lap, kneading his paws into Vision's chest with a series of happy mews. "How old is this, uh...boy?" he asks, having to swallow the insult he wants to use.

"Not sure," Wanda says. "My vet pegged him at six or seven months when I found him. I just picked a birthday for him and that's when we celebrate."

"What's his name?" Vision asks, fighting not to think it's sort of sweet when the cat butts his nose into Vision's hand and squirms for attention, tail coiling around his finger.

Wanda hesitates for long enough that he thinks she hasn't heard him, then she straightens her shoulders and says, "Čarapa." She glances at him over her shoulder, and says, "It's Sokovian. Where I'm from."

"Oh," he says, remembering the reports of the war there from his childhood, and the newer pictures of the beautiful scenery, the place that's been on his ideal travel list ever since he heard about the famous morning markets. "I'm afraid I don't speak any Sokovian. Does it translate to English? What does it mean?"

"You have to earn the right to know," she says, flashing a teasing smile over her shoulder, and he just stares at her. When she stops looking at him, frowning down at her phone resting next to her, he slips his phone out of his pocket and quickly Googles the phonetic way she pronounced the name of the cat now kneading at his stomach, slightly painfully.

" _Sock_?!" he exclaims, and sees a blush stealing up Wanda's neck, spilling over her cheekbones. "You named your cat  _Sock_?!"

"You named your cat  _Isabella_!" she snaps, and Isabella looks up at the sound of her name, meowing in recognition. "You see how pretentious that sounds, right?"

"Do  _you_  see how childish  _Sock_  sounds?" Vision asks, rolling his eyes derisively, and Wanda glares at him. "Honestly, do you have a niece or nephew that you let name your cat?"

"No,  _I_  named him," she snaps. "And I thought it was a good name. More unique than naming him...Whiskers or something. Or Ginger. One of my friends tried very hard to convince me to name him Apricat, so really he got off easy."

"Yes, but...why  _Sock_?" Vision asks, and Wanda gives him a look. "I planned Isabella's name as soon as I saw her. She just looked like such an elegant cat, I had to give her a name worthy of that."

"I bet your entire shortlist was pretentious," Wanda says sulkily. "I found him out the back of the restaurant I work in, hiding under the dumpster. And he was clutching this sock, hissed when I tried to get it away from him, and he still keeps it in his bed. I've washed it, obviously, but he loves it. Carried it all the time when I first took him in. So that's his name." She folds her arms, flicking more oil onto her shirt, and snaps, "So are you going to keep judging me, asshole?"

Blinking at her, the fierceness in her voice, Vision stills for long enough that her cat... _Sock_  hooks a paw around his hand to force him to keep petting him. "I suppose not," he says, and Wanda gives him a sharp nod and turns back to her cooking. "What are you making?"

"Chicken and mushroom pasta," she says, peering at the print-out of the recipe sitting next to the stove. "You can stay for some if you want? I'm trying to cook more, and I want to have people who won't spare my feelings try it."

"Um..." Vision glances at Isabella, seemingly very happy slowly exploring the apartment, and the warm weight of Sock is his lap, definitely not interested in moving. "Yes, I'll have some. My leftovers will keep for another day."

"There's a bottle of wine in the fridge if you want a glass," Wanda says, adding a sprinkle of pepper to her pot and pointing vaguely in the direction of the fridge, where someone has spelt out  _hapy halowen_  with alphabet magnets and no one has changed it in the intervening weeks. "Glasses are in the cupboard over the sink."

"Um..." He tries to shift, but Sock lets out an affronted noise and rubs his head into Vision's chest, leaving a fine layer of orange hairs on his blue jumper. "Is there a...technique to getting him to move?"

Wanda glances at him, and smiles at his predicament. "Sock!" she says warningly, and the cat rolls upright, slinking sulkily up against the arm of the couch. "Some might say he's almost too affectionate, honestly."

"And yet there are people who think all cats are mean and aloof," Vision says, picking his way around the scattering of random shoes by the door to pull down wine glasses, and Wanda scoffs.

"That ginger idiot shows me more affection than a lot of  _humans_  have," she says, stirring her pot perhaps a little too violently. "He's never,  _ever_  been aloof with me. The day I lured him out he jumped straight into my arms and cried when the vet had to take him off me."

"Isabella warmed up to me immediately, even though the breeder warned me she might miss home for a few days," he says, and catches a glimpse of the slant of Wanda's smile out of the corner of his eye. It makes her eyes shine, and he looks away a little slower than he should. "She curled up next to me on the couch, purring. I'd never had a pet before, and she was so easy to take care of so quickly."

"I had a goldfish when I was little," Wanda says, and gives her pasta one more triumphant stir before giving it one last twist of pepper and inhaling deeply, smiling slightly. "But Sock just...I felt like he was meant to be mine, you know? Like he was hiding out behind my work because he was looking for me. He needed someone to love him and be patient with him."

The conversation seems to be steering in an odd direction, and Vision unscrews the cap of the wine bottle, fighting not to wrinkle his nose at how cheap it smells, and pours himself a glass just big enough to not cause offence. "So how long have you lived in the building?" he asks, watching her pour heaping portions of pasta into mismatched bowls, Sock winding around her ankles as she crosses to the couch and sets a bowl in his lap with a hopeful smile.

"A little more than a year," she says, tucking her feet beneath her on the couch and pouring herself a glass of wine far bigger than his. Making him briefly wonder how she stands the smell. "You?"

"Since I moved to New York," he says, watching the steam twisting up from his bowl unenthusiastically.

"Try it!" she insists, and he takes a fortifying sip of wine, forcing himself not to cringe at the flavour, before he scoops up a forkful of pasta. Even if Wanda is annoying, and seemingly ignorant of Sock sniffing at her bowl and threatening to steal some of it, he can't just not encourage her when she's trying.

Yet despite his valiant efforts, when she takes a bite her face screws up and she sets the bowl aside. "It's not good, is it?" she asks, and gives a slight smile, pulling a hand through her hair. "Maybe I should stick to heating up ready meals."

Shifting his bowl away from Sock's curious nose, Vision sighs to himself and says, "I have leftovers upstairs. You could...come join me?"

"I shouldn't leave Sock," she says, running a hand over the cat's back. "He might pull his stitches out, then I've got to take him back to the vet and he'll be upset again."

"He can come too," Vision says, almost reluctantly, wondering what spirit of someone with more patience than him is manipulating his mouth. "I mean...he's neutered now and Isabella is already pregnant. They can't get into any more trouble."

"That's true," she muses, and then shakes her head. "Christ, look at us. We sound like the parents of some teenagers that accidentally got pregnant."

"Isn't that sort of what our current situation is?" he asks, and she grins. "Come on up. It shouldn't take longer than a few minutes for me to reheat. It's lime-baked chicken, will you like that?"

"I'll try anything once," she assures him, and scoops up Sock, his paws against her shoulder and his head nudging into her neck. Watching them, the warmth in Wanda's eyes, he reaches for Isabella and gently lifts her into his arms. Maybe it will be nice to have someone around who understands just how real his love for his cat is.

Up in his apartment, he sets Isabella down on the couch and Sock leaps down to join her, the two of them sniffing sweetly at each other, and Wanda is glancing around the room with a small smile on her lips. "Your place is gorgeous," she says, and he gives a bashful shrug. "Where did you get those cushion covers?"

"I made them," he says, and her eyes go wide. "Well, I bought plain white cushion covers and embroidered the flowers. It was an ongoing project for a while."

"So you're the artsy type?" she asks, arching an eyebrow, and he tries to read deeper into her voice, figure out whether she's teasing or judging or being genuine. He somewhat doubts from their so far contentious relationship that she's being serious.

"I like crafting," he says, pulling the Tupperware out of the fridge and cracking the lid open, pulling a baking dish out of the cupboard. "I'm teaching myself to crochet."

"I thought that was just a hobby for old ladies," she says, and he bristles. She glances at him, eyes gleaming, and says, "I play guitar. That makes me cool."

"I'm sure it does," he says, words weighted heavily with sarcasm. "What do you do the time you don't spend with your friends? Or playing guitar? Or cycling?"

"I knew you'd noticed I have a healthy hobby too," she says, much too smugly. "I'm at college. And I waitress. And sometimes pick up a couple of shifts at a bookstore a friend of mine owns when I'm short on cash."

"You're at college?" he asks, giving her an up and down look, trying to gauge how old she is. "But you seem a little...older than twenty-two."

"Well not everyone is on the same timeline as you, genius," she says with an acerbic sweetness. "Pursuing a career in psychology is a lot of hard work to get to an entry-level position. What do you do?"

"I work in digital design," he says. "Mostly from home since I started working freelance a few years ago. Not a big fan of an office environment."

"Because it gives you less time for yoga and embroidery?" she asks sharply, and before he can open his mouth to retort she's holding her hands up in surrender. "Sorry, sorry. Defensive. As a hopeful child and adolescent psychologist I'm becoming qualified to tell you exactly why."

Closing the oven door and trying not to let the sharp, spiky atmosphere in the room tighten his chest, Vision watches Sock sniffing at the base of the dining table chairs for a few seconds before he says, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I went to college early and graduated in two years instead of four. Of course I'm further along in my career. That is by no means a reflection on you as a person. I'm sure you work very hard."

"Only when Sock doesn't lie on my laptop and distract me while I'm trying to write papers," she says, and the moment seems to have been smoothed over. "And I actually finished my bachelor's. I'm doing my Masters right now. I had to take a break in between."

"Probably a good idea, I sort of regret going straight into a Masters," he says, leaning down to inspect the reheating food. "It puts you in a strange sort of place when you leave academia. It took a while to find the right balance." He looks back at her over his shoulder and teases, "That's when I learned to embroider."

"Okay, okay, you've made your point, we both misjudged each other," she says, and stands up, leaning over the counter and hastily grabbing the small blue vase she nearly knocks off with her elbow. "Hi. I'm Wanda Maximoff. I'm twenty-eight, and when I was a kid I wanted to be a superhero or a sea lion trainer because of one time I went to the zoo and had a crush on the woman who was part of the show. Now I'm a waitress, occasional bookseller, hobby guitarist and a psych major."

She holds out a hand with a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, and after a moment of hesitation, soundtracked by the snuffling of the cats around the couch, he takes it and shakes gently. "I'm Victor Shade, but everyone calls me Vision. I'm twenty-seven, and when I was a kid I wanted to be a scientist or a teacher. Now I'm a freelance designer and I use my free time for yoga, knitting and hanging out with my pregnant cat."

"Oh, you have a pregnant cat?" she asks, eyes bright, and he has to huff out a slight laugh. "What's the kitty dad like?"

"He seems nice," he says, and she shoots Sock an affectionate glance just as he sneezes explosively. "But his  _owner_ -"

"Okay, you've made your point," she says, rolling her eyes. "Let's be friends. For the sake of the grandchildren."

"It'll be hard," he sighs, and gives her a small smile when she gives him a disbelieving glance. "Sure. Let's be friends."

"Great, then can you watch the kitties for a few hours this weekend?" she asks, and he arches an eyebrow at her. "I'm going to visit a friend of mine for the weekend and don't wanna take Sock because he harasses their dog. And your apartment is way too clean for someone who owns a cat, you need a nice healthy dose of cat hair on everything."

"It's actually not that difficult to get rid of it with a handheld vacuum-"

"Great, so you'll have no problem keeping an eye on them!" she says brightly, and he just gives her shake of his head. "Come on. It's what we have to do as responsible cat parents. There's only so long until we have kittens running around."

"My vet says perhaps five more weeks," he says, just as Isabella comes purring around their feet.

"Poor baby, she'll be pregnant over Christmas," she coos, bending down to scratch Isabella behind the ears. "We'll have to celebrate together. Sock has his own stocking."

"So does Isabella," he says, slightly smug as he adds, "I made it myself."

"Okay, you made your point, you're the fairy godfather of DIY," she says, and he grins smugly. "So if you're so good at everything, let me try your food and judge it?"

He finds the right bottle of wine for them, pours it into two perfectly matching glasses, and sets it all neatly out on the dining table for you, adding a quick bowl of salad and the last of the loaf of bread he made a few days ago. Leaving the cats diligently investigating one of his houseplants, they sit down and he watches her while she takes a bite.

"Oh fuck you, I knew that would be good. I hate you."

 


	3. maybe it's a paw-sibility

**A/N:** Whoops? Dissertation semester is hard kids. Hope you all enjoy this update - the fluff, literal and figurative, just keeps on coming!

* * *

Straightening his cushions in an absurd sudden need to perfect his apartment, Vision runs a hand through his hair and straightens his shirt at a knock at the door. He glances at himself in the mirror mounted next to his coat rack before he opens up, plucking a pale cat hair from the front of his grey sweater before he opens the door to be greeted by Sock's meow. "He knows his lady friend is up here," Wanda says, setting him down, and Vision watches him dart straight for Isabella, nuzzling her ears and curling up next to her with a flick of his tail.

When he pulls his gaze away from the cats, it goes straight to Wanda. There's no longer dark roots showing through her red hair, and it's pulled back into a ponytail, and she looks comfortable in her plaid shirt and jeans. It's checked blue and grey, the elbows worn with age, and his eyes linger for a second on the way the material shifts against her body when she reaches up to adjust the band holding her hair still. "How are you getting to your friend's?" he asks, and she smiles slightly.

"His wife actually runs the restaurant he works in, so she's giving me a ride to their farmhouse for the weekend," she says. "I gotta go see their kids, I knew them when their youngest was born."

"Why don't they come visit you?" he asks, out of curiosity rather than anything else.

"They've got three kids, I've only got one," Wanda says, and smiles affectionately at Sock, already sprawled out getting hair all over Vision's couch. "I'll be back late Sunday night. Call me if he gets stressy, he can be iffy sometimes. Hopefully having Isabella around will make him okay."

"My vet is making a house call tomorrow to check on Isabella, will that make Sock nervous?" Vision asks, and Wanda bites her lip, her fingers twitching. "I can postpone if it will!"

"I think he should be fine," she says. "It's the smell and the look of the vet's office that freaks him out. Is your vet a man or a woman?"

"A woman." He fidgets momentarily and says, "Her name's Mantis. I've known her since college, her girlfriend was in the same department as me. She gave me a lot of advice when I was looking to get a cat."

"Sock can just be a little nervous around men," Wanda says, and right on cue Sock leaps down from the couch and winds around Vision's ankles. "Not you, though. He's a little traitor." She reaches down to scratch him behind the ears, cooing, "Aren't you, asshole? You betray me every day, don't you?" as he purrs.

"I'll call you if anything goes wrong with them," Vision says, and she looks up and arches an eyebrow at him, and he notices the rip in her jeans over her right knee and the dark eyelash clinging to her cheekbone.

"How are you gonna do that without my number?" she asks, and he can feel heat creeping up his neck, wondering if he can blame it on having to turn his heating up for his pregnant cat. She holds out a hand, her nails painted a glossy dark grey, and says, "Phone. Give me it."

He practically runs to retrieve his phone from the coffee table and hand it to her, and she smirks slightly as she keys her number in. "I'll send you a text so you know it's me," he says, and does so immediately.

"Hang on, I gotta save you in," she says, and then turns her phone to show him that she's saved his number under  **CATSITTER**. He shakes his head at her and she giggles. "Can't save you under your name, Clint's kids will think I have a boyfriend. It's all they ever ask about."

"Can't you simply explain to them that we're just neighbours?" he asks, and she rolls her eyes at him, making him bristle momentarily with irritation. "Must you roll your eyes every time I ask you a question?"

"Yes," she says with a sunny smile, and it's his turn to roll his eyes. "And you've clearly never hung out with a nine year old girl and eleven year old boy. All they wanna know is whether I'm seeing someone."

"Well, shouldn't they stop asking after the first time you say no?" he asks, and she just laughs.

"You really don't know anything about kids," she says, and he feels colour flare in his cheeks. She stands up, idly brushing cat hair off herself, and says, "I'll see you Sunday. Clint tried to convince me to go back again for Thanksgiving, but I told him I had a pregnant daughter-in-law to deal with and I'm not even American."

"I don't celebrate Thanksgiving either," he says, and she smiles. "Maybe we can spend time making fun of those Americans together."

"I can think of nothing better than making fun of Americans," she teases, and it brings a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Okay, I should go. Sock!" She waits for her cat to look up, and the stern look on her face almost makes him laugh. "You behave for Vision, okay? He's already mad at you for knocking up his precious princess." Sock starts daintily licking his paw, and Wanda sighs. "Are you even  _listening_  to me?"

"I think he's just ignoring you," Vision teases, and she rolls her eyes. "We'll be fine. You have a good weekend."

She smiles, straightening her shirt, and for a moment she hovers in the doorway like she's thinking about touching him. Then she rolls her shoulders and picks up her bag and says, "Bye then. I'll text when I'm heading back on Sunday."

And she walks away, leaving Vision to wonder for a long moment why he stares after her for so long.

* * *

Trailing a feather across the ground and watching Sock leaping on it, Vision jerks the wand back when there's a knock at the door, gaining him an affronted look from the cat. "Just a moment," he says, and Sock chirps at him, knocking his head against Vision's fist. "I know." He reaches behind him for the rubber mouse that Wanda said is Sock's second favourite toy and holds it out from him to daintily sniff. "You want this? I have to let Mantis in."

After a few moments of sniffing, Sock appears to decide that the toy is an acceptable substitute for the feather and takes it from Vision's hand, and Vision stands up to dust cat hair off himself and let Mantis on. She's out of uniform, smiling, and immediately says, "Is this the infamous father?"

"It is," Vision says, and Mantis crouches down to offer her hand to Sock, smiling when he sniffs at her fingertips. "His name is Sock. I'm watching him for the weekend while Wanda is away."

"Who would've thought a cute little face like this could cause so much trouble?" Mantis coos, and Sock purrs, nudging his head into the curve of her her palm. "Do you know his backstory?"

"Wanda got him as a stray, and he's scared of the vet," Vision says, just as Sock is demonstrating that by trying to climb into Mantis' lap. "She did get him neutered after I told her about Isabella's pregnancy though. So we're letting them spend time together."

"As long as neither of them show any signs of aggression, your little lady could probably do with spending more time with cats," Mantis says, and Isabella lifts her head from where she's resting against one of Vision's embroidered cushions with a mew of recognition. "Though you should know male cats tend not to get involved with their offspring. You're unlikely to be able to get cute Instagram shots of a little family."

"Just because I have an account for Bella doesn't mean you're allowed to make fun of me," Vision says, and Mantis giggles. "I know you only don't make an account for your rabbits because Nebula wouldn't help you run it."

"I'll persuade her," Mantis says, and he smiles slightly. It's shadowed by the jealousy he's always had for Mantis' easy, happy relationship with her girlfriend, but he has to let go of that. He has a job and an apartment and a cat, and love will come when the right person walks into his life. "Can you get Isabella down? I'll have a quick look over her and see if we can tell how many kittens might be in there."

"I'm being very careful," he says. "I'm using the feed you recommended and keeping her hydrated and not letting her jump on the bed or the couch." When he reaches for Isabella, she uncurls enough to let him pick her up, and when he sets her down she ambles lazily to Mantis. "She's getting slower and sleepier, but I haven't noticed any other changes."

"That's only to be expected when you're making so many babies," Mantis says, scratching Isabella behind the ears. "She's a purebred Siamese, isn't she?" He nods, and Mantis runs a hand down Isabella's spine, smiling when she curves her back into the pressure. "Even though she's a first time mother, she could be likely to have a bigger litter. They've been known to have up to twelve kittens."

"Oh God-"

"She's young and she's a first time mother, I'm sure she won't have that many," Mantis reassures him, though he still chews nervously at the inside of his cheek looking at Isabella. "I can start putting feelers out for people who might want to take a kitten on? I assume you won't want to keep them all."

"I just don't have the space," he says fretfully, and she gives him a softly sympathetic smile. "I wish I could. I don't want to split Bella up from her kittens."

"Reach out to friends first, then you'll still be able to see them and you'll know the cats are going to good homes," she says, and brushes her fingers over the rug to encourage Isabella to lie down. "She looks healthy. Her eyes are clear and she's obviously still responding to people. Has she started trying to nest anywhere?"

"I haven't noticed, but I suspect she'll make a nest in my room when she wants to," he says, and Isabella chirps in agreement, her ears twitching when Sock comes to investigate, brushing his head over Vision's ankles. "I was worried she might become aggressive, but if anything she's actually  _more_  affectionate."

"You can find that with cats who are very emotionally attached to their owners," Mantis says, and Vision preens for a moment over knowing that Isabella loves him. "She might even turn your bed into her birthing place. Keep an eye on that, unless you want to sleep on the couch."

"I don't mind," he says, and Mantis gives a slight affectionate roll of her eyes. "It's my fault she was able to get pregnant. I wasn't vigilant enough. Now I have to make her comfortable while she goes through this."

"You know it's a lot easier for a female cat than a woman," Mantis says, and he shakes his head. "I'll be expecting this level of support when I decide to have kids. I hope you know that."

"You're hardly going to get pregnant by the strange boy downstairs," Vision says, and Mantis laughs, reaching over to scratch Sock behind the ears and prompt a loud bout of purring.

"Nebula would really have some questions if I did," she says, and Vision smiles slightly. "And I suppose I'm not slated to have a litter right after New Year's." She reaches for Isabella, still lying on the floor, and moves her hand over her belly, frowning.

"What are you doing?" Vision asks, unable to help the sharp spike of concern in his chest.

"I'm trying to feel the number of embryos she's carrying," Mantis says, looking deep in concentration. "I think I can feel at least four."

"Is there an accurate way to tell?" Vision asks. "I want to be fully prepared for the number."

"I should be able to tell through X-ray, but she's not far enough along yet," Mantis says. "You can bring her in when she is. If you know how many to expect then you'll be able to help the birthing process along better." She gives Vision a glance and says, "Maybe next time you can bring Sock's owner with you. Grandparents should experience all this magic together."

"I'm twenty-seven," he says sourly, and she giggles. "I'm not planning on children yet, you know that. I'm not even  _dating_  anyone."

"You know Sam will show you a good time if you want one," Mantis teases, and Vision ducks his head, feeling heat creeping up the back of his neck. "And if you will act like this little lady is your child, then her kittens are your grandkids."

"I'll see if Wanda would like to come along next time," he says with all the dignity he can muster. "I made gingersnaps for her to take to visit her friend this weekend. And I have some leftovers. Would you like one and a cup of tea, or are you going to keep insulting me?"

"Tell me about Wanda," Mantis says, straightening up and helping herself to a mug from his cupboard, flicking the kettle on. "Are you still an Earl Grey guy?"

"I've switched to decaffeinated," he says, and Mantis rolls her eyes. "Why do you want to know about Wanda?"

"Because you never talk about girls," she says, and he flushes. "Come on. At least tell me what she's like!"

"I think she would get along with Sam," he says. "She's very...confident. And opinionated."

"But do you think she's pretty though?" Mantis asks, and he ducks his head in embarrassment. "Come on. Tell me. I'll only tell my girlfriend."

"Um...she's got red hair. Green eyes." Mantis huffs in frustration and he winces. "What am I supposed to tell you? We don't know each other that well, we're just neighbours!"

"You could be so much more," she says. "You can't waste the opportunity of a cute girl nearby."

"You almost did in college," he retorts, and she shakes her head, tucking her hair behind one ear. "You  _did_. You're lucky that Nebula asked you out first, or you two would never have gotten together."

"Someone always has to make the first move, and anyway, I was the one who suggested moving in together," she says. "Make the jump. You haven't been on a date since that weird intense blonde."

"I don't need to date, I've got work and Isabella and the kittens soon enough," he says, and Mantis rolls her eyes. "I'm perfectly satisfied with my life. I don't need to go on dates, so don't even think about setting me up."

"But we know a guy who might be really good for you!" Mantis protests, and Vision shakes his head. "Fine. But will you at least think about maybe going on one date? Or flirting with one person? You spend so much time alone, I don't think it's good for you."

"Luckily, I know a psych major and I can ask her if not dating is affecting my health," he says. "Don't you have more appointments to get to?"

"You're so defensive about your love life," she teases, and finishes her tea. "Nebula and I are going for dinner with Gamora and Peter tonight, so I probably  _should_  go. What are you doing tonight?"

"Knitting a blanket," he says with as much dignity as he can muster, and Mantis just laughs.

* * *

Sock curls around Vision's ankles and nearly trips him up as he tries to get to the door and the insistent buzzing of the intercom. "It's me!" Wanda says, and he pushes the button to let her up, nudging Sock gently away and moving to start the kettle boiling.

The second she opens the door, she's dropped her bags and is crouching down to a purring Sock, cooing, "Hi baby! Did you miss me? I missed you, I missed you so much, yes I did, who's the most handsome kitty? Is it you? It must be you!"

"I thought he was a tiny asshole," Vision says, smiling slightly watching her gather Sock into her arms, kissing his head as he purrs and kneads at her shirt, tail curling around her wrist.

"Not when I've been away from him for so long," she coos, letting Sock bury his head in her neck, purring. "Clint's dog just isn't the same. I never wake up with him sleeping on my head."

"You want tea?" he asks, and she nods, still nuzzling her face into Sock's head, holding him close. Seeing her like that, getting her striped jumper covered in cat hair, her red hair draping over Sock's orange fur, he smiles slightly. His gaze lingers a second too long before he looks away.

"How was your weekend with the kitties?" she asks, setting Sock down next to Isabella on the couch, and when she sits down next to them he can't help but think that she looks good on the couch. Against the white cushions with her red hair and blue-striped jumper, toeing her trainers off and stretching out her legs in their ripped jeans.

"It was fine, thank you," he says. "No issues. Sock was remarkably well-behaved."

"Well he only misbehaves for me, right baby?" Wanda coos, kissing Sock's head again, tracing her fingers over his ears. "How was the vet visit?"

"Mantis thinks there's at least four kittens in there," Vision says, and Wanda's eyes go wide for a second. "We have to wait a few more weeks then she might be able to see exactly how many on an X-ray."

"You're gonna be a dad so many times over, asshole," Wanda says, scratching Sock behind the ears, and Vision smiles slightly. "As long as I'm here, fancy making me dinner? I really don't want to cook."

He rolls his eyes, but he gets up and pulls leftovers out of the fridge. Turns on the oven and adds some extra seasoning to the pot, remembering that she complained about his food being a little bland. And he gazes at her, cooing at Isabella when she nudges her head into Wanda's hand, and he can feel his breath catch.

But he doesn't need to date. He's not attracted to her. When they sit down to dinner, her feet tucked up beneath her, she immediately starts teasing him about the balls of wool gathered on the table. And he shakes his head at her and she smiles. Though they might be thawing towards each other, she's still immensely irritating.

She doesn't leave until almost midnight, after they've had a few glasses of wine and she's told him all about her weekend, about her friends and their children and their farm and their dog. He likes the sound of her voice, the way her accent gets stronger over certain words, and the way she twists her rings when she talks. He's always been observant. He's always noticed small things about other people.

So he can blame that observational nature for the fact that he knows exactly how it looks when she uncurls her legs and stretches her arms. When her shirt rises up and exposes a thin stripe of pale skin. A glimpse that makes his mind tick towards touching her, towards holding her and knowing whether her sweater is as soft as it looks.

He can blame his memory for how long he stays awake, remembering the warmth of her skin and the smell of her shampoo when she hugged him goodbye, Sock wriggling between them.


	4. in which someone is getting that loving feline

**A/N:** Yay update! Hope everyone enjoys! My tumblr is [here](https://mximoffromanoff.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to chat about anything fic or SV related :)

* * *

Vision's hands fall away from his laptop in frustration when Sock forces his way beneath his arm, lying down over the keyboard and rolling onto his back, purring loudly and twining his tail around Vision's wrist. "I have work to do, you know," he says, and Sock bats at his hand in response. "You can have five minutes, okay? Why can't you just sleep like Bella?"

He spares an affectionate glance for Isabella curled up in her bed, her ears twitching occasionally with her dreams. She's visibly pregnant now, her belly distended, and he's using a space heater and a fan alternately to make sure she stays at a comfortable temperature. It's time-consuming, but he's winding down his workload to prepare for Christmas and hardly going into the office anyway. And Wanda has been spending increasingly more time in his apartment, with Sock, watching over both cats. Leaving her mess all over his apartment. Just this morning he found her mascara between the couch cushions.

Idly scratching Sock behind the ears when he rolls over again, he flicks through his phone, re-reading the briefing for this project, making sure the client hasn't emailed again to make any changes to their initial asking. And a notification drops down from the top of his screen:  _Snapchat from Wanda_ , and he clicks on it, frowning. He let Wanda use his phone last night when hers ran out of charge and she needed to check something, after she promised not to look at his nudes and laughed when he blushed and blustered, and when she handed it back she proudly announced that she'd made him a Snapchat profile.

He tries to ignore the strange lurch of his chest when he sees the photo of Wanda, one hand thrown up in a peace sign, her hair tied up in a red scrunchie. She must be in class, if the previous photograph of her sprawling handwriting in her notes is anything to judge by, and his eyes search out the familiarity of her face, mismatched eyeliner and her bright lipstick. Then he notices the jumper she's wearing, the neckline covered in layered gold and silver necklaces, and immediately clicks to message her.

**Vision: Excuse me, but isn't that my jumper?**

**The Woman, The Myth, The Legend: I was cold. My lecture hall is huge and the heating doesn't always work. Men's sweaters are comfier than women's sweaters and you're the nearest convenient man**

**Vision: Convenient?**

**The Woman, The Myth, The Legend: You were in the shower when I dropped Sock off this morning and the sweater was just waiting. Your cologne smells good, btw**

**Vision: Oh...thank you**

**Vision: Why is your name showing as 'The Woman, The Myth, The Legend'?**

**The Woman, The Myth, The Legend: I changed it 0:)**

**Vision: What's that supposed to be?**

**The Woman, The Myth, The Legend: An angel smiling 0;)**

**The Woman, The Myth, The Legend: That's an angel winking**

**Vision: I figured that one out myself.**

**Vision: How do I change your nickname?**

**The Woman, The Myth, The Legend: Google it, tech guru. Or I'll help you tonight. Tho idk why you'd want to change it it's perfect. Truly sums me up**

**Vision: Yes, a psych grad student with a cat who won't stop lying on my laptop when I'm trying to work is truly a myth, a legend**

**The Woman, The Myth, The Legend: Now you're getting it!**

Forced by Sock's continued nap on his keyboard to take a break, Vision makes himself a cup of tea while following a beginner's guide to Snapchat on his phone, and manages to change Wanda's nickname back to something less likely to have Sam laughing at him for a solid five minutes if he sees it pop up in a notification. Sock continues to lie on the keyboard, refusing to move and only starting to purr louder when Vision prods him in the hopes of shocking him into moving, so he snaps a photo and sends it to Wanda with the caption  **He won't move. Help me?**

He gets back a  **Oh, he won't move ;)** , and rolls his eyes. Then another message, and he frowns at the tiny black and white  **Will you send a photo? My study group wants to know what the in-law looks like**. It seems innocent enough, and he's never considered Wanda to be a cruel person. Only a little disorganised, perhaps misguided, but trying her best to be a good person. So he sends the photo, and waits anxiously for her response. Forgetting work to obsess over whether his glasses are crooked, or smudged, or if he should've moved closer to the window for natural light, or if he should've tried to look brooding and serious instead of smiling.

After ten minutes, there's still no response, and Sock finally chirps and rolls off the keyboard, slinking across the room to curl up protectively in front of Isabella's bed. Vision's irritation at losing working time softens and he snaps a photo for Instagram, then puts all thought of Snapchat and Wanda out of his head to get back to work, cup of tea sitting neatly at his elbow. Letting work sweep him away along with the music playing softly through his headphones, determined to concentrate until something else comes along to distract him.

Which it does, at precisely thirteen minutes past three. In the form of Wanda letting herself into his apartment, shaking off a freezing winter rainstorm and throwing her coat onto a hook, rolling her eyes when he gives her a pointed look until she slides a waterproof mat beneath it. "How was your day?" he asks, determinedly not thinking about how oddly domestic this is, about how she knows where to go for a mug and how she places her shoes just so next to his and how she wriggles her feet in his rug while she waits for the kettle to boil.

"There was no study space, all of college was freezing, and I've got some absolute idiot of a guy who thinks he's God's gift to grad school in my team for group work," she says, viciously stirring sugar into her coffee. "But other than that, I got a corner piece of brownie at the campus café and a chihuahua licked my arm on the subway. So, an all round good day." She folds herself down onto the couch, one foot shoved beneath her, and asks, "How was yours?"

"I've just been sitting here working," he says, and she raises an eyebrow. "After I went to yoga this morning. And I had a nice chat with the new family when I took a walk at lunchtime. They have a six month old, he's adorable."

"Of course you like babies," she says, adjusting her position on the couch until she's balancing her mug on her chest and having to crane her neck to drink. "You're so predictable. I bet it doesn't even irritate you when you ask someone how old their kid is and they say 'thirty-seven months' instead of 'three'."

"Actually it's important to define a young child's age by month since their development is examined in months not years-" He trails off when he realises quite how uninterested Wanda is in his discussion of children, and clears his throat before he says, "Do you still want to come to Bella's appointments with her vet?"

"Of course I do, I gotta see how my adorable daughter-in-law is doing," she says, climbing up from the couch to go over to Isabella and crouch to gently scratch her beneath the chin. Vision stares for a moment at them, his jumper tucked into the waistband of Wanda's jeans, and forces his gaze away before she catches him. "What time is it again?"

"Quarter past four," he says, and saves the day's work, emailing the file to his client before he powers down his desktop and stretches. "I'll have a cup of tea then we should go if we want to make it on the subway."

"Do you wanna go out for dinner after?" Wanda asks, so innocently, casually. But Vision's head jerks up to look at her, still distracted by the cats, and he mouths wordlessly for a moment. "Obviously we'll have to bring Isabella back here first. But can we leave them unsupervised just for an hour? There's this new place, it's walking distance."

"Why dinner tonight?" he asks, trying to keep his shock from strangling his words. She's only asking as friends, it's not as if they haven't eaten dinner together before, and why does he care whether or not she's asking him out to dinner as a friend or as something more. She's irritating.

"Oh, my friends are setting me up on a date this weekend, and he's taking me to this place," she says. Lucky that she's not looking at him to see the way his face falls. "I want to test it out so I'm not spending a date staring at a menu for ten minutes trying to figure out what I want."

"Well, I...I'm not sure about leaving Isabella alone," he says, and the way Wanda looks at him makes him feel small. Stupid. Obsessing over keeping his cat safe because he has no one else. "I can just cook for us here tonight."

"You do all the cooking all the time, Vision, it's not fair on you!" she protests, and he wants to overrule her. To not think about her going on a date, wonder about her routine, think about her smiling and holding hands in candlelight with someone he doesn't know. They've spent so much time together recently, she feels like a part of his life he doesn't have to share. And, suddenly, he does. "I can check whether the place delivers if you really don't wanna leave Isabella?"

"That would be nice," he says, slightly stiffly. But she doesn't seem to notice, instead turning to her phone, and he forces himself to get up and go retrieve Isabella's cat carrier rather than mope.

Once they've made it to the vet, off the busy subway, and he's holding Isabella in his lap to calm her down after the journey, he finds himself noticing how Wanda taps her hands on her legs while they're waiting, drumming out a rhythm. She's recently dyed her hair again, he can tell by the lack of darker colour showing at her roots, and she's still curled up in his jumper. When he gets it back, it'll smell like her, the musk of her perfume, and he finds himself liking the thought, feeling a flush rise beneath the collar of his shirt. He's grateful when Mantis' head appears through a door and she calls, "Isabella Shade?"

When the door is shut, Wanda smiles at Mantis and says, "Hi, I'm Wanda. I'm the baby daddy's owner."

"Oh, I've heard so much about you, and about Sock!" Mantis says, and Wanda turns to arch an eyebrow at Vision. "All very positive. You two are quite the reluctant friends, it seems."

"Oh, Vizh is a sweetheart, he just pretends to find me immensely irritating," Wanda says sweetly, and Vision blinks, swallowing thickly. A nickname, a compliment, and a disarming realisation all built into the same sentence. He  _is_  just sort of going through the motions of finding Wanda irritating now. She's sweet, she spends so much time in his apartment without him feeling the need to eject her from his space, and they really are friends. He hasn't seen Sam in almost two weeks, but he sees Wanda every day. Indeed, it feels odd on the days they don't spend time together, making him inclined to knock on her door and offer her something, anything to see her face.

"Let's check over the little lady we're all here for," Mantis says, and Isabella steps daintily onto the examination table with a chirp of recognition, letting Mantis run her hand down her back and over her tail. "She looks very healthy, Vision. You're obviously taking great care of her."

"I've been studying everything I can, since I know she'll likely need help with the birth," he says, and blinks at the look Wanda and Mantis exchange. Wondering whether it's fond or irritated. "I'm hoping to get her a little birthing area set up."

"Be prepared for the likelihood that she'll just give birth on your bed, since you're so close," Mantis says, and Isabella purrs in agreement. "Okay, Bella, we gotta get you under the ultrasound. Let's see how many grandkittens these two are getting."

The machine looks a little frightening when Mantis is wielding it over Isabella's tiny body, her swollen belly, and Vision shakes a little before Wanda's hand lands on his shoulder. A gentle, reassuring squeeze that makes his heart flutter. A temporary moment of insanity where he wants to hold her hand, before Mantis draws his attention with a clear of her throat. "So I'm seeing six kittens," she says, and Wanda's jaw drops. "Not uncommon for a Siamese to have a litter of that size. A little more unusual for a first time mother to have so many. That likely means you'll have to help with feeding the newborns, in case she can't produce enough milk. I'll send you away with an information pack about it, okay?"

"Six kittens?" he asks softly, and Mantis nods. He turns to Wanda, who doesn't look nearly so shocked as he feels, and asks, "What are we going to do with six kittens?"

"Clint's family are interested in taking on two, maybe three at a push," she says, and Vision blinks. He hasn't a friend to reach out to after Sam turned a cat down on account of his bird, and Wanda has friends who might take half the litter. "And my friend Natasha is moving in with her boyfriend and they're looking for a pet. They're too busy for a dog, so a cat might suit them perfectly."

"Don't worry about that now," Mantis soothes him. "I'm happy to help by caring for one or two if you need it." Her face softens and she says, "Nebula and I are going on holiday with Peter and Gamora for Christmas. But you have my number and we should be back before Bella gives birth."

Wanda touches his arm gently, and he looks down to her soft eyes. "You're freaking out," she says quietly. "Let's go home and order dinner and get some herbal tea in you." She straightens the cat carrier, coos at Isabella, and the cat immediately responds to her voice. Another sign of how quickly she's integrated into Vision's life, how suddenly.

She orders their food, somehow knowing without asking what he'll like. And he stares at her, still wearing his sweater, feeding Isabella and Sock, stroking Isabella while affectionately whispering to her. Trying to figure out how she managed to slip into his life without him even noticing, how she's now his friend, how a touch from her is now enough to calm his quickening breathing. She sets them up on the ground, on top of the yellow knitted blanket from his room, pushing Sock's nose away from the takeout carriers, and smiling at him softly. "So it's okay for you to watch both kitties by yourself on Saturday?" she asks, and he blinks at her, momentarily lost in the jewel green of his eyes. "While I'm on this date. His name is George. I'll try and do something here with him if you can't catsit."

"No, no, I can catsit," he says. And he turns to poking morosely at his pasta, while Wanda fills him in on more details about  _George_.

But he's not jealous. She's still irritating.

* * *

Vision pauses Netflix and quickly swallows his mouthful of comforting pasta when there's a knock on the door and Wanda lets herself in, Sock immediately squirming out of her arms to dart across the room and sniff at Isabella's ears before he lies down next to her. And Vision tries not to stare at Wanda hovering in his doorway, her hair curling prettily over her shoulders, a black and white striped shirt knotted above black jeans. He's pleased to notice that she put his borrowed shoe polish to use taking the scuffs off her boots, and she smiles nervously at him while she continues to play with the ring on her necklace.

"What are you doing tonight?" she asks, and he gestures vaguely at Netflix. "What are you watching?"

"This reality show about glassblowing," he says, and she smiles. "Don't worry about us. I can watch the cats by myself for the night. You go have a good time."

"How do I look?" she asks, spreading her arms slightly to show herself off. And he stares at her for the brief moment he's allowed to, the perfect wing of her eyeliner and the red of her lipstick and her nervous little smile.

"You look lovely," he says, and she  _beams_. "Apart from the cat hair." He pulls the lint roller from the side of the couch and hands it to her, watching her run it over the sleeves of her leather jacket, concentrating on the silky material of her shirt.

"I haven't been on a date in quite some time," she says as she rolls off the last orange cat hair with a flourish. "But I promise I'll be back tonight. No later than eleven, probably, I think the restaurant shuts at ten."

"Just go out, have fun, we'll be here," he says, and she smiles. Then she sweeps out of his apartment with a flash of red hair swirling over her shoulders, and something hollow and sad clangs in Vision's chest.

He manages to make it an hour before he opens a bottle of wine. Netflix plays on in the background, and Sock jumps up onto the couch next to him, curling up beneath his hands in a clear indication that he wants to be petted. And Vision does it, finishing his glass of wine and pouring himself another one, feeling the pleasant warm fizz of it rushing to is head. He finds himself continuing to pet Sock, softly saying to him, "You're a good boy really, aren't you? I'm sorry I was mean to you."

Taking another gulp of wine, he leans back into the warm embrace of the couch cushions and says, "You know something odd, Sock? I think I'm a little jealous that Wanda is on a date tonight." Sock mews in response, climbing into Vision's lap, and the wine is enough that he doesn't mind so much about the orange cat hairs now getting stuck on his clothes. "I think I'm... _jealous_." Scratching Sock beneath the chin as he purrs, he says, "I think I... _like_  her. Like,  _like_  her like her." Sock mews again, and Vision studiously meets his eyes. "Don't repeat that to her, okay?"

The flick of Sock's tail seems to be an agreement to keep this secret just between them, and Vision continues, "I just...I think she's so pretty. And so smart. And so kind. And we rub each other up the wrong way sometimes, but...I hear that's a good thing in relationships. I...think I like her." He shakes his head, drinks more wine, and says, "I already said that, didn't I? Look at me, being silly, talking to you about this."

Another glass of wine down, and his mind is wandering. Thinking about Wanda on her date, wondering how it's going. If her hand is drifting over to a long, muscular thigh that belongs to  _George_ , if she's laughing at his joke and batting her eyelashes at him, if she's leaning in to kiss him. Maybe she'll come back to the apartment with a new boyfriend, hand in hand with some tall, confident, bold man. Someone who'll sweep her off her feet and replace him as the man who cooks for her and makes awkward jokes that she laughs at and learns all the little behavioural tics of her cat, and somehow now there's a lump in Vision's throat.

He reaches for his phone and calls the first number, and luckily there's an almost immediate answer. "It's Saturday night, shouldn't you be knitting?"

"Sam, I'm sad," Vision says simply, punctuated by a hiccup.

"Oh my god, are you drunk?" Sam asks, and Vision nods miserably into the phone. "Oh my god, did you just nod at the phone? You really are drunk. How much have you had?"

Vision looks down at his glass and finds it with nothing more than trickle in it, then down at the empty bottle lying sideways on the floor. "A whole bottle," he says, and hears Sam conceal a laugh in a cough. "Why are you  _laughing_ at me?"

"I'm on my way over, okay, big guy?" Sam says, and Vision flops onto the sofa, pressing his forehead into the arm. "I'll bring you some cheese fries."

"That's not very healthy," Vision mumbles into the sofa upholstery.

"Neither is drinking a whole bottle of wine by yourself," Sam says. "Couldn't even invite me over to join in, huh? You know I love drunk Vision."

"You're being  _mean_!" Vision insists, and Sam snorts down the phone. " _Sam_ , I'm  _sad_!"

"Okay, cool your jets, I'll be over soon," Sam says, and hangs up the phone. So Vision stays where he is, lying face-down on the couch, Sock kneading at his legs, until he has to get up to press the door buzzer. The room tips sideways and he has to lean on the wall, head light and spinning, and Sam shakes his head dramatically when he walks in.

After he's eaten the entire box of cheese fries, he feels somewhat more normal. And Sam is staring at him while Sock stares round-eyed at their food, even Isabella's exhaustion overwhelmed by the smell of grease, and Vision says, "So I guess you want to know why I drank a whole bottle of wine."

"Yes, in fact, I would," Sam says. "You sounded upset. I wanna know whose ass I have to kick."

"No one's!" Vision exclaims, and Sam grins, helping himself to the last of the chicken wings. "So, um...you know Wanda? My neighbour? Sock's owner?"

"The irresponsible owner of the terrible bandit kitty who impregnated your precious angel, yes," Sam says, and Vision flushes at the thought that he used to speak about Wanda like that. "What about her?"

"So, um...she's on a date tonight, that's why I'm by myself," he says, and Sam just continues to steadily gaze at him. "And I...have realised that I'm jealous. And I think that I...I maybe...might...like her?"

"Why are you saying it like a question?" Sam asks, and Vision looks down at his knees, blushing. "You're twenty-seven. This is not your teenage sexual awakening anymore. Either you like her or you don't."

"I do!" Vision blurts out, and Sam grins, mischief dancing in his eyes. And Vision flushes and whispers, "Like her, I mean. I like her."

"Well you know what you gotta do," Sam says, and Vision shakes his head. "Ask her out! For God's sake, she's already spending a bunch of time in your place, and your cats are having babies! The foundation has been laid, my friend."

Vision shakes his head silently, his face on fire, and presses play on Netflix until Sam stops talking. They stay there on the floor, watching it, until a knock comes at the door and Wanda lets herself in. She's still immaculate, lipstick in place and shirt unrumpled, and Vision can't help perking up at all these signs nothing happened between her and  _George_. "Hi baby!" she squeals, and Sock darts across the room to her, rubbing his head around her ankles and purring. "Hi Vizh, how was your evening?"

"Wanda, this is Sam, Sam, this is Wanda," Vision says, glad that the lightheadedness brought on by wine has faded. He can't imagine what he would've done if she had come back and he was still drunk. "We've just been watching some Netflix and eating some takeout." He steels himself, swallows thickly and asks, "How was your date?"

"Oh, not that great," she says, and Vision tries not to visibly perk up. "There just wasn't any...spark, you know." She stretches, her shirt rising enough to show a thin stripe of pale skin, and asks, "What are you doing for Christmas?" Throwing her jacket over the back of a chair, she says, "Clint asked me to confirm if I'm going to his, but I don't want to leave the cats. Why don't we spend it together?"

Ignoring Sam waggling his eyebrows at him, Vision says, "I'd love that." And his reward is the sweetness of Wanda's smile.

* * *

Vision looks up from adjusting the lights around his Christmas tree when Wanda lets herself into his apartment, wearing a skirt patterned in candy canes, and crosses the room to throw an arm around him with a soft, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Wanda," he says, trying not to cling to her for too long, to betray the new state of his feelings. There's an indignant mew from between them, and she pulls back grinning, letting him pet Sock. "And merry Christmas to you too, Čarapa."

"Thank you for using his formal name," Wanda says, and he laughs. "Okay, what goodies do you have waiting for us up here?"

She curls up next to the Christmas tree, legs folded beneath her in their knee-high socks, and a sudden wave of affection warms him. Seeing her in his apartment, on the day he normally spends alone, smiling when Isabella strolls daintily over to her and nudges at her hand, just makes him want her in his apartment every hour of every day. Filling it with the scent of her perfume and the happy light that radiates from her.

"So here's your present from me and Sock," she says, holding out a neatly wrapped bundle. He crouches down next to her, gently pushing Sock's nose away from the baubles on the tree, and takes the present, carefully shelling the paper open. "You look so good in jumpers, but you don't have any red ones, and I think you'd look really good in red. It's my favourite colour." He unfurls the jumper in question, a perfect shape and the right size, and smiles at her.

"Thank you," he says softly, and means it. "I'll wear it all the time, I'm sure."

"Okay, where's my present?!" she asks, bouncing like a child. And he pulls her tiny stocking out from under the tree, embroidered with her name, and she grins. "You did that yourself, didn't you? I've lived a life of never finding my name on anything in gift shops."

"Yes, I did it myself," he says, wondering why that fact makes him blush. It's not silly to put in effort for a friend. Even if she is a friend he's desperately trying to hide his attraction to. "So, um, I just put in a few little presents."

She unwraps the first, a stack of books, and he fills in, "You said you wanted to read more thrillers. I asked at the bookstore and the shop assistant said these are the best ones for beginners." Then a packet of lint rollers, and she laughs softly, setting them aside. Then a huge collection of socks, and he explains, "A lot of yours have holes in, I couldn't help but notice. I tried to pick out a variety, there are even a few novelty ones."

Lastly, he says, "I just saw these earrings in a store. And they reminded me of you." She unfurls the wrapping paper, and pulls out two gold hoop earrings shaped like cats. She's grinning, and he says, "I just thought...if not for cats, we never would've met."

"God bless our stupid animals for getting overexcited," she says, and he smiles. She carefully slides the earrings on, shaking her head so they catch the light, and says, "It's weird, you know. I haven't even known you very long, but going a day without seeing you feels...strange. I don't like it."

"I feel the same way about you," he says. Very softly. And they gaze at each other for a long, silent, charged moment. He almost leans in.

Then Sock barges between them meowing for treats, and the spell is broken.


End file.
